


Richie Tozier is an asshole

by mothjons



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, First Kiss, Fluff, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Oblivious Richie Tozier, Slow Burn, drunk, fluff and angst aka the worlds best combo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22757398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothjons/pseuds/mothjons
Summary: When Eddie turns up at Richie's door looking for a place to stay, Richie can do nothing but let him. Now that they're reunited, Richie is going to have to deal with the very scary fact that he is a deeply, and utterly in love with Eddie Kasprak.Basically - Richie is terrified of dealing with his emotions, and Eddie is very tired.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

The second-floor apartment of Richie Tozier was akin to a show-home. It was clean, with modern furniture, placed where one would expect – a side table there, a lean lamp here and a couple of rugs placed decidedly around, designed to designate sections of living to the open plan design of the room. If you were to scan the room, your eyes would pick up on a couple of knick-knacks belonging to the home-owner: a selection of 90’s comedy films placed beside the television, a bold patterned shirt strewn across the couch after being discarded a few days prior, and a few pieces of brick-a-brack upon the shelves, most likely found in a local thrift store. But the home, if it was deserving of that title, could have belonged to anyone. 

This was what Eddie Kasprak concluded when he entered the apartment for the first time. He must have looked puzzled, and Richie noted the expression on the other man’s face.

“I’m not here much,” he explained. “Never really bothered making it look nice.”  
Eddie looked up at him, but didn’t say anything. He’d known this man long enough to know that he was going to continue talking past this point.  
“I know, I know, you were probably expecting some trashy looking dorm room, and not an actual adults place – apologies, by the way,” Richie continued on. “I have a brand to maintain, though. Keep this between us.”  
If Richie was nervous, he was doing a good job of hiding it. It wasn’t everyday your childhood best friend shows up at your door, clutching all their belongings in a sleek suitcase and telling you that they had left their wife. It also wasn’t everyday that said man happened to be the same man you had been in love with for the last 30-odd years.  
“Yeah, this whole divorce thing was actually just a scheme to write some expose piece on you,” said Eddie, as he placed his bags by his feet. Richie moved to pick them up, and then faltered, looking around.  
“I don’t actually have a guest room or anything … or like, actual rooms, I guess.”

Eddie looked around and nodded, humming whilst he re-observed the place. Richie had bought the place 10 years back, and at the time, he had thought that an open floorplan was just the thing he needed if he was going to do New York right. However, he had found that it had just made him feel a lot lonelier. There were no walls he could pretend that friends were laughing behind, no separation between the segments of his life – it was all just there, laid out in front of him, and it wasn’t much.

“The couch is fine, honestly. I’m just glad you didn’t turn me away at the door.”  
“I wouldn’t,” Richie stated quickly, surprising both himself and Eddie with the rate, and the sincerity of which his reply was given. The corners of Eddie’s mouth gently turned upwards, an appreciating smile.  
“I mean if you’re here, then no doubt Sonia will also be visiting - and let me tell you, in 27 seven years, no woman has ever been as good as your mom has,” he deadpanned, and then for extra effect, leaned over to peer at the door as if expecting one Sonia Kasprak to enter the apartment suddenly. God forbid Richie have a single moment of sincerity. 

Eddie responded with a half-lidded glare. “You, Richie Tozier, are a grade A asshole, you know that?”  
“You shall not talk to your father like that, not whilst you’re living under my roof,” Richie sang back. A beat passed. “Sorry about the divorce thing … that’s, uh, rough, buddy.”

Eddie sighed as he made his way over to the couch, which he dramatically flopped down onto, face first and feet flying up to kick his own ass, only to fall back down to meet the sturdy leather cover that the rest of his body was sprawled across. Richie unceremoniously threw the bags that he had been holding onto a matching armchair and sat himself down on the arm of the settee. He patted the back of Eddie’s calf, in a show of support. 

“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” Richie asked. Eddie mumbled a response, but his words were eaten up by the couch.  
“I hear you,” Richie replied sarcastically, “Myra was an incredibly annoying and controlling woman, you’re right about that.”  
Eddie craned his neck down to look at Richie, and offered a glare, before pushing himself up so that he was sitting. He placed his head in his hands, and pressed his palms into his eyes, before loudly groaning. 

“It’s just, after what happened back in Derry – with IT, and me almost dying,” said Eddie, as he lifted his torso up to meet to cushions behind him. “I just remember waking up in that hospital bed and thinking about having to go back to my old life, to my job and to Myra.” He laughed, coldly. “God, it made me wish I had died down there.”  
“Don’t say that.”  
“I don’t mean it, not really.”  
“Still.”

There was a moment of silence, before Eddie cleared his throat and started again. “So anyway, I went back, tried to just get on with it. But I just couldn’t, so I came back after work and I took one look at her and told her I couldn’t do it anymore. Said that I had done some re-evaluating, and just,” he sighed, and then let out another empty laugh, “couldn’t do it anymore.”  
“Re-evaluating,” Richie repeated, “Is that what we’re calling getting stabbed by Space Clowns now?”  
Eddie rubbed his eyes again, and let out a yawn.  
“I’ll let you sleep,” Richie said. He pointed to the only door in the room that wasn’t the entrance, “That’s the bathroom, and if you need me,” he pointed over to a screen that was roughly a metre and a half away from the couch, and was half obscuring a bed, “I’m there.”  
“Thank you, Richie,” Eddie said, and he placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I mean it.”  
Richie swallowed. “Yeah, of course. Anytime. Losers stick together, right?”  
“Right.”

When Richie awoke the next morning, he was greeted by an unfamiliar soundscape. It was the sound of soft feet, padding their way around his kitchen, whilst a melodic sizzling sound danced around the gentle whistle of the kettle. He peered his head around the partition and could just make out an Eddie coloured blob moving around behind the kitchen counter. He quickly fumbled for his glasses, and pushed himself up out of his bed, and begun moving towards the kitchen.

“Did I just wake up in some kind of 1950’s American dream commercial?” he said, as he stretched his arms up into the air, working out the tension that had built up over the night, and let out a loud sigh.  
“When was the last time you actually cooked?” asked Eddie, looking up from the frying pan. “All your utensils were buried under a million pieces of Tupperware – which I reorganised, by the way.”  
“Uh, thank you?” Richie offered back, as he perched upon the barstool. Eddie placed a cup of coffee beside him. He took a sip, it was nice. Well, a lot nicer than how he made it, anyway.  
“What time is it?” Richie noted that he had not yet seen his apartment in this soft, early morning glow that was now settling over the room.  
Eddie shrugged. “About 7am?”  
“How the fuck am I awake right now?”  
“Congratulations, you woke up at the same time every other adult does,” Eddie remarked. “Welcome to adulthood.”  
“If I knew adulthood meant being greeted by somebody cooking me breakfast and making me coffee, I would’ve joined a long time ago,” said Richie, as he took another long draw of his drink.  
“Don’t get used to it, asshole,” Eddie bit back as he placed a plate in-front of Richie.  
With the limited ingredients Richie stocked in his home, he was impressed with how nice breakfast looked; two perfectly poached eggs upon some white bread, which Richie remembered as having been left in the freezer, next to 3 rashers of bacon and a pile of cooked mushrooms, drizzled in olive oil. Richie thought to himself that he might find this all too easy to get used to. He looked up at Eddie and watched him as he meticulously cut into his meal, creating an evenly balanced forkful experience of all the components before him. Eddie was still wearing his pyjamas - a matching set Richie noted, a lot nicer than his choice of old t-shirt and joggers. His hair was sticking up in places, and the strands had allowed themselves to curl outwards, not yet having been confined by a thick comb and hair gel. A strand fell forward into his eye.

Richie wanted to move it. He would just have to reach out … 

Eddie quickly pushed it back in place with the back of his hand, before looking up at Richie, who had been quite obviously staring. Eddie raised an eyebrow. Richie quickly looked down and served half the egg into his mouth. At least his chewing would prevent him from saying anything stupid, like ‘Hey man, I know we’ve been friends forever, and killed a clown together, and you just got divorced but I am super in love with you, is that chill?’ 

“Eggs mare goof,” Richie spluttered out, sending a piece of half chewed food flying out of his mouth and landing in the space between the two. Eddie’s face twisted in obvious disgust. Richie swallowed his mouthful.  
“Eggs are good,” He repeated, more coherently. He looked down at the bit of egg, and awkwardly picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, and then, not really knowing how to discard it, just not so subtly dropped it on the floor. This didn’t seem to ease the other man’s expression in the slightest.  
“How did you sleep?” Eddie asked, in an attempt to distract himself from Richie’s disgusting habits.  
Richie gave a ‘meh’ kind of shrug. “Probably better than you, I can’t imagine the couch was too comfy.”  
Eddie looked over towards the aforementioned couch, and cocked his head. “Good lumbar support.”  
Richie snorted. “Well, just let me know if you want to swap at any point. I’ve slept in worse places than a couch.”  
“I don’t doubt I’m already inconveniencing you enough without stealing your bed as well,” Eddie said, into his coffee cup.  
“Inconveniencing? Dude, you just made me breakfast and cleaned my kitchen – this is probably the nicest my place has ever looked or smelt,” Richie replied. 

Eddie gave him a look. A look that somehow made Richie feel so small and vulnerable, but also safe and warm at the same time. It was how he usually felt when he looked at him. Looking at Eddie reminded him of the feelings he so wished he could ignore. It just didn’t feel fair. He had spent his whole childhood, feeling guilty, and dirty and wrong for feeling those feelings. When he left Derry the first time, it all began to fade away, and he thought maybe he was fixed, that it had just been a phase and that he could live his life free from that guilt that had been constantly chasing him. Of course, upon starting university, and many drunk parties and rushed hook ups later, he was forced him to come to terms with the fact that this was his life. 

He was gay. 

But at least he wasn’t still in love with his best friend. That was until Mike had called him, and they had all reunited in Derry. The moment he had heard the voice of one Eddie Kasprak listing off his allergies he knew, knew that he was still very much and very deeply in love with him.

Seeing the person you love almost die changes you. He had watched Eddie in the hospital, listened to the slow haunting beep of the machines, that both reassured him that he was alive and taunted him that only barely. The other losers came and went, popping by to bring flowers for Eddie and a change of clothes for Richie; who never left. He spent the next week by the other man’s side, sleeping in uncomfortable chairs, and eating grungy cafeteria food and drinking bad filter coffee. And the whole time, he had been planning just how he would tell Eddie that he loved him. He had been given a second chance in that Chinese restaurant, and by some grace of god, he had been given a third, and he wasn’t going to waste this one.  
That was until Myra came to pick him up.  
Eddie had woken up this morning, and the losers had welcomed him back to consciousness with tears and hugs, and prayers – only to be broken apart by the nasally cry of Eddies name from Myra’s lips. His name sounded ugly coming from her. It sounded cold and loveless, and Richie remembered thinking how could somebody possibly say the name ‘Eddie’ with no fondness to it. She had shooed them away like pests from her husband, handing out insults and blame to the group – as if they had been the ones that stabbed him, not some evil clown. Though, as far as she knew, it had been caused by him being pushed onto a fence by a mugger – which was backed up by the slash in his face.  
And then he was gone again, taken by Myra’s clutches back to LA. And just like that, Richie had blown his third chance. He had begun to accept that this was just something he wasn’t meant to say. It was for the best, anyway. He didn’t imagine that a version of himself would ever exist that wasn’t a coward. 

Evil clowns – no problem.  
Dealing with emotions – problem.

“You’re being weird,” Eddie said, pulling Richie back down to earth.  
“I am?” He said, a few pitches off his usual octave.  
“Yeah, you’re not talking. I dreamt of this day, but now it’s here,” he whistled, “it’s creepy.”  
Richie raised an eyebrow and begun to slowly roll his head in a flirtatious way. “You dream of me, huh?”  
Eddie overdramatically rolled his eyes, showing only the whites. “Never mind, fuck you – go back to not talking.”  
“But Eds –“  
“Don’t call me Eds!”  
“- I want to hear about your dreams,” he holds the ‘S’ sound down, pulling it out into a note.  
“Oh yeah?” Eddie leaned forward, closing the gap between them. “I have this one really wonderful dream where I stab you in the face and you shut the fuck up.”  
Richie nods and pretends to pounder the reply. “That’s some pretty kinky shit, Eds.”  
“Beep beep, Richie,” he warns. Then, “Help me clean up.”

Richie is on drying duty, whilst Eddie washes the dishes. Originally it had been vice-versa, but when Eddie had seen the lacklustre effort Richie put into scrubbing the plates clean, he had forced them to swap; for the sake of his own sanity. At one-point Richie had put music on. Somewhere along the road, he had really gotten into country music, so the soft melodic voice of Marty Robbins filled the apartment.  
For some reason, one of the few necessities Eddie had brought with him included a god-damn apron. Which he was wearing now.

“I don’t want to get my clothes wet,” he had explained.  
“They’re your PJ’s, though, you’re gonna be taking them off in five fucking minutes when you shower,” Richie had argued back.  
“Yeah and I don’t want to spend the next five fucking minutes wearing damp clothes, it doesn’t feel nice.” And then, to prove his point, he had thrown the wet sponge at Richie’s chest, where it landed with a wet squelch, before being followed by a second when it hit the kitchen tile.  
They cleaned in silence after that, which was rare for the two of them. Just the sounds of water running, plates stacking, and gentle music. Richie tried not to let the domesticity of it all sink in. He knew this wasn’t a permanent thing, Eddie had said he just needed a place to stay until he figured out what he was going to do. Knowing Eddie, he would figure it all quickly, and would be gone from Richie’s life again soon enough. If that thought panged in his chest, he ignored it.  
It was later on in the day, and the two had elected to go to the supermarket – mainly due to the fact that Eddie had ransacked Richie’s cupboards and managed to complain about every item of food he found. Apparently having a whole drawer dedicated to instant noodles didn’t read as a good sign for Richie’s heart.  
Richie had known that he lived near a Whole Foods, but had never ventured past the parking lot; until today, that is, with Eddie dragging him in by the arm whilst muttering about sodium levels and cholesterol.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Richie said with an eyebrow wiggle, which was met by a hand to the face from Eddie. The two grabbed a trolley and placed their bags inside. Eddie’s essentials also included some cotton tote bags, which read things like ‘Refuse what you cannot Reuse’, and ‘Happiness is a piece of chocolate away’. He assumed the latter had belonged to Myra. Eddie had gasped loudly when Richie had told him he didn’t have any reusable bags. He had meant to get some, he just … hadn’t.  
Eddie seemed to know what he was doing in the aisles, and Richie welcomed someone else taking over the shopping, he found it dreadfully boring. Of course, this didn’t stop him sneaking in some less savoury treats into the trolley. Eddie scolded him like a mother to a toddler, but had to give in halfway through the trip after Richie almost threw a tantrum over being forced to eat Heart-Healthy Cereal.

“My heart survived a space clown, I think it can survive Reese Puffs,” Richie pointed out.  
“What about the trans-fats?” Eddie argued back.  
“It is the 21st century, Eds, we love trans people of all shapes and sizes.”  
“Fuck you, Tozier.”  
“Trans rights, baby!” He yelled, and threw up his hand for a high five. Eddie left him hanging, and began walking away. “This means we get the Reese Puffs, right?”  
Not looking back, Eddie threw him the middle finger. Richie turned to an old man next to him, who was looking at a back of Cheerios. “Men,” he said, with a knowing scoff. The man didn’t reply. 

He found Eddie later by the checkout, beginning to place things upon the conveyor belt. Richie gave him a hand. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair scraped up into a neat bun, looked up and gave them both a smile.  
“Hi there, sirs, how are you two today?” She asked, in a soft southern accent. She looked friendly, and her name badge read Irene.  
Eddie mumbled back a ‘fine’, not looking up from the conveyor belt, where he was rearranging things (“You can’t put the eggs first, Richie, they have to be packed last or they’ll get crushed”).  
“We’re good, thank you, how are you?” Richie replied, trying to be more courteous than his friend.  
She looked at him for a moment before she replied, scanning him almost. “I’m very good, thank you – say, aren’t you Richie Tozier?”  
Richie heard a small “Fuck sake, really?” from Eddie. The cashier, however, didn’t pick this up.  
Richie smiled again, this time a little uncertain. “Yeah, uh, that’s me. Hello!”  
Eddie had finished packing the conveyor belt and had pushed past Richie to get to the packing station, placing his hand on the small of his back as he moved by. Richie almost froze solid at the touch.  
“I love your shows, I saw you live back in Chicago – before, well, you know,” she trailed off, her customer-service smile beginning to falter slightly. She quickly picked it back up again, though. “It’s good to see you looking healthy, there were a lot of rumours.”  
Richie nodded. He knew what she was talking about when she said before – his freak out on stage after getting the call from Mike. He had gone slightly MIA after getting back from Derry, in fact, he hadn’t performed since. A few radio gigs here and there, but no performances. He had heard the rumours too; drugs was the biggest one, but his favourite was that he had been abducted by Aliens. Which, to be fair, was probably the closest one – considering what It was.  
“Yeah, there always are,” he replied, with a fake laugh. He caught Eddie out of the corner of his eye, he had his arms crossed, and was tapping his left foot impatiently. Richie noticed that Irene hadn’t yet started scanning through their items, caught up in conversation.  
“Well, when you’re ready to come back to the stage, you’ll have fans wai-“  
“Sorry,” Eddie cut in, not sounding sorry at all, “We’re in a bit of a rush, could you please move faster.”  
Irene faltered, and then quickly nodded, and began to quickly scan the items through. Richie shot Eddie a ‘Really?’ look, which was responded to with an eye roll. Ah, the famous Eddie response.  
“That’ll be 50.87, please,” informed Irene. Simultaneously, both he and Eddie handed their cards over.  
“I’ll pay,” stated Richie.  
“No, I’ll pay,” bit back Eddie.  
“You quit your job.”  
“You don’t do yours.”  
“You’re my guest.”  
“Exactly, I’ll pay. You’re letting me stay with you.”  
“You cooked breakfast.”  
“With your food - let me pay.”  
“You guys are a cute couple, but please, can somebody pay?” cut in Irene.  
“Cute?” they both exclaimed in unison. Irene looked awkward.  
“We’re not dating,” Richie said, at the same time as Eddie said, “Take my card, please.”  
She took it and Eddie shot Richie a smug look. It was Richie’s turn to roll his eyes.  
“Next time,” he said, “I’m buying.”  
Eddie smiled at him. “Next time.”

The two left the store and made their way back towards Richie’s place. It was a lovely evening, just on the cusp of midsummer, and the sky was the colour of honey, and the warmth glowed over the buildings, as sunlight danced and caught windows, blinking like a thousand eyes. Richie took a deep breath and allowed himself to bask in the gentle heat. The two ambled back towards the flat in comfortable silence. They made their way up the two flights of stairs, and tumbled into his flat. Eddie made quick work of putting the shopping away, and gave himself the extra challenge of rearranging the rest of his cupboards. Richie had offered to help, but Eddie had batted him away, claiming that if how the cupboards looked now were anything to go off, he was no good at putting groceries away. Richie hadn’t realized that it was an Olympic sport. So, instead he just lounged against the counter and watched.

“How long do you think you’ll be staying?” asked Richie, curiously. AKA, how long does he have to enjoy this.  
Eddie took a breath. “I’m not sure honestly. I haven’t really planned anything – I can leave whenever you want, though.”  
Richie quickly shook his head. “No, no, dude. Stay as long as you need to. Besides, it’s nice having someone else around.”  
“No doubt I won’t annoy you,” Eddie admitted, as he stacked boxes of pasta. Richie noted that there were also new cooking utensils sitting in a jar by the oven, and wondered how much Eddie had shoved into his suitcase.  
“Oh, yeah, no shit,” Richie goaded. “You annoy me every single day, man. Still like having you around, though.”  
“I’m not sure if I should be offended or happy.”  
Conversation was quickly interrupted by the sing-song melody of Eddie’s ringtone. He fished it out of his back pocket, and glanced at the screen. A scowl formed on his face, and Richie watched him as he silence the phone and placed it face down on the counter.  
“Myra?” Richie guessed.  
“Hmm,” was how Eddie responded. The phone sounded again.  
“Maybe you should answer it,” Richie advised. “Or turn it off? Either way, annoying ringtone.”  
Eddie sucked his cheeks in, and placed his hands on his hips. He looked between Richie and the phone a few times, before admitting defeat and picking up the offending device.  
“Myra,” he stated coldly. An immediate explosion of screeches burst from his phone, and Eddie, well trained after many years, was holding it a good distance from his ears. Richie couldn’t work out what the shrill notes were attempting to say. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.  
“Myra, Myra, can I talk?” Eddie stressed. “Can you please stop yelling so I can talk? No, Myra – Myra, I’m not coming back. We talked about this – Myra, stop yelling. Just sign the – Myra, just sign the papers. Jesus Christ.”  
The yelling got louder, and Eddie gave Richie an apologetic and fatigued look.  
“You want to divorce that?” Richie mouthed in a stage whisper. Eddie shot him a middle finger, Richie gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Myra’s tyrant of noises didn’t seem to be coming to an end, so Eddie just placed the phone down and allowed her to scream at nothing as he pulled out a bottle of wine, and two glasses. He served up two, notably large, portions, and pushed one to Richie. Eddie mimed a ‘cheers’ motion to the air, and Richie copied. He nursed the glass in his hand, and took a gentle sip. Eddie knocked it back in one, and didn’t hesitate to refill his glass. He picked up the phone with a sigh.  
“You’re not going to die alone, Myra. You have your sister – yeah, I know she’s a bitch. I don’t want to be married to you anymore! You can’t make me continue to be your husband. Where am I? Why do you need to – fuck, fine, New York. No, I haven’t seen any rats yet - yes, I know about the diseases they carry. I’m going to hang up – yes, Myra, goodbye, Myra – sign the fucking papers. Bye.”  
He slammed the phone down, and then let his head fall down against the counter top with a thud.  
“That sounded really productive,” Richie said enthusiastically, slapping the other man on the back. Eddie looked over at him through a cracked eye and huffed out a laugh.  
“Myra Kasprak, folks,” he announced.  
“Not for very much longer,” pointed out Richie, taking a dreg of his drink.  
“I can’t wait.” Eddie lifted his head. “Even just being away from her for these past few days has been better than the last 5 years.”

Richie felt a sudden pang in his chest. Had Eddie really been so miserable? Had the two of them been living in quiet obsoletion, letting the world beat them past their breaking points day after day? He had hated himself for forgetting Eddie every day since getting back from Derry, but this emotion wasn’t hate; it was a melancholy grief for a life they had both missed. He wondered what kind of people they would’ve been if they had been given the chance to be anything other than the obvious shells that they were know. He often found his thoughts coming to this place on sleepless nights. A constant stream of roads not taken. He shook his head, trying to wiggle the thoughts free from their clutch on his mind. He took another drink.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” Richie said, quietly. “I didn’t realise how bad it was.”  
Eddie just shrugged nonchalantly. “How could you? We lost touch.”

There was no blame or malice to the words, but Richie felt struck by them anyway, guilt rushed in.

“Besides, it took a space clown for me to see sense,” continued Eddie, sensing discomfort from Richie. I’m not sure I would’ve listened if you had said something.”  
Richie smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He finished his glass, then slapped his hands down against his thighs. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Eddie agreed, and the two decided on a fast-paced action thriller. After having lived through the genre, those types of films didn’t have the same effect on the two as they did on others. But they were enjoyable, nonetheless. They ate, drank and chatted their way through the film. By the time the credits rolled, Richie had a soft intoxicated buzz running through him. He stumbled up from the couch, and caught himself on the arm rest. Eddie laughed at him, as he plumped up his pillow and laid back. The sun had just set, turning the sky the colour of a week-old bruise. Milky clouds rose up as darkness began to take hold of the night. Out on the street, the usual New York night time soundscape began to settle in, soft whirs of car engines singing along to drunk shouts and bellows. It was an oddly soothing white noise to Richie. The noise reminded him that he was no longer in Derry, and that thought alone was comforting.

“G’night, Eds,” slurred Richie as he made his way over to his own bed. “Sleep well.”  
“Don’t call me Eds!” barked Eddie. “Goodnight, Richie.”


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few weeks, the two fell into a comfortable routine. Eddie cooked dinner for them, if Richie made breakfast – even if that was just brewing coffee and putting some bread in the toaster. Richie made an effort to clean up after himself, even if Eddie came behind him to redo what he had just done. Eddie began looking into jobs in New York, and Richie’s agent had messaged him about a potential short-term radio gig. Their two lives slotted easily against one another. For the first time, since Richie could remember, he felt happy. So happy, that when Bill suggested that the six of them all meet up at some point, he suggested their flat.

“This place is tiny, how the hell are we going to fit six fucking adults in here?” Eddie had cried when Richie excitedly broke the news.

“It’s not tiny,” Richie pointed out, “It’s cosy.”

“It’s fucking cramped enough with the two of us!”

“They’re coming for dinner, not moving in,” Richie said calmly, and he placed his hands on his friends’ shoulders. He noticed that his hands cupped them perfectly. He allowed his thumbs to massage circles against the yellow polo that Eddie was wearing today, and watched as he let out a sigh, and visibly relaxed underneath his touch. The romantic side of his brain sang out ‘you’re holding Eddie Kasprak and he isn’t trying to kill you’, whilst his goblin brain spat out ‘let go of the guys shoulders you creep’.

“What time are they coming?” Eddie asked, meeting Richie’s gaze with his warm brown eyes. God, those eyes. Richie wished he could stand there for eternity, lost in the warm honey of his stare. The stare which was now underneath two raised eyebrows. Jesus, how long had he been staring? He was also still holding onto Eddie. Fuck. He quickly jumped back, and pinned his hands to his sides, like a nutcracker doll.

“Uh, seven?”

“Seven!”

“That’s bad?”

“That’s two hours away, Richie!” He slapped him across the chest. “How am I meant to cook for 6 fucking people in two hours?”

Richie opened his mouth to reply, then faltered when he realised that he didn’t actually have a reply.

“You’re so infuriating,” Eddie muttered, as he made his way over to the kitchen and pulled out a cook book that had not been there two weeks prior. A lot of things had entered the apartment since Eddie had moved in. Richie welcomed them all, after all, it was nice to have more than one towel, as well as a fancy soap dispenser – which beat his prior routine of just moving a bar of soup between the bathroom, shower and kitchen depending on where it was needed.

“Take-out?” Richie prompted. Eddie gave him a glare so deadly, he wondered if it could’ve been used to kill It and save the rest of them the hassle.

“We’re not 20 anymore, I’m not serving my friends _take-out_ ,” he spat the last word out like it was venom. He began aggressively flicking through the pages of the cook-book so fast that Richie suspected he was only doing it for dramatic flare, as there was no way he was processing any of the words on the pages at that rate.

“They’re our friends,” Richie stated. “They just want to see us.”

Us. The word sent a flutter of butterflies loose around his chest. _Us._

Eddie pointed a ladle towards Richie, poised like it was a sword and not a method of soup-transportation. “You better fucking help me cook, you ass.”

The kitchen developed into a cacophony of flavours and scents, sweet paprika, roasted garlic and a fiery hint of chili. The rhythmic thudding of Richie’s knife moving across the board, dicing carrots, onions, and eggplant mixed smoothly with the bubbling of the sauce, watched closely by Eddie as he sprinkled in an assortment of spices and seasonings. The two somehow worked together and against one another, bickering over everything, but finding routine in it.

“The carrots need to be diced smaller,” Eddie pointed out, not even looking over and away from his focus on the pot.

“Any smaller and we’re gonna have to serve this dish with a side of microscope,” Richie muttered, as he did as asked.

“Is the eggplant cut? It needs to roast for 45 minutes or-“

“Or it won’t have time to get soft. Yes, honey, I know – and yes, it’s chopped.”

“Then why isn’t it in the oven, sweetie?” Eddie replied in the some faux-sugar sweet voice that Richie had previously used.

“It’s times like these I really miss your mother,” sighed Richie, as he pushed the chopped eggplant onto a dish already lined with tin foil, thanks to Eddie.

“Yeah, well, sorry, you’re stuck with me for now,” Eddie countered, hitting Richie with the spoon he was holding as he made his way over to the oven.

 _Yeah_ , Richie thought, smiling to himself, _and I wouldn’t change it for the world._

Bill arrived first, carrying a bottle of wine and dressed in a white button down, and grey slacks.

“Bill!” Richie exclaimed, bringing the other man into a tight bear hug. “It’s good to see you! How are you? Come in.”

“It’s not finished yet!” yelled Eddie. “Don’t let anyone in!”

Richie laughed. “Ignore him, honestly. He’s been frazzled all day.”

Bill peered down the hallway, where he could just see Eddie darting about around the kitchen, making last minute touch ups and finalizing the presentation.

Richie had been kicked out of the kitchen 10 minutes before hand, and had been forced to set the table, which he showed Bill to.

“I’m doing good, almost finished my next book,” Bill replied, holding his hand up and crossing his fingers in luck.

“Worked out how to do endings yet?” Richie joked.

“Don’t be an ass, Richie,” warned Eddie. “Hi, Bill, I’ll be there in a second – this was thrown at me last minute.”

He didn’t hide the daggers he was sending Richie, to which he countered with a wink.

“Don’t worry, Eddie,” eased Bill as the doorbell rang again.

It was Mike, followed shortly by Ben and Bev – together, of course. The four guests were seated, whilst Eddie forced Richie to help him dish up and serve.

“Spaghetti,” Richie announced, placing a bowl in front of Mike and Bev. “Made by the one and only Eddie-Spaghetti.”

“It’s pasta alla norma,” Eddie chided, serving up to Bill and Ben. “Made by both of us. Which I’m only sharing as insurance in case it tastes bad.”

Richie shrugged. “Still spaghetti.”

The two sat down themselves, across from one another.

Bev raised her glass up. “To the losers!”

Everyone cheered, and raised their glasses up to meet hers with a loud ‘ _Clink’._

“To the losers!”

Conversation flowed easily that night, as did the wine. Mike told stories of his travels, he had only just come back from a visit to Scotland – and he recounted tales of the misty highlands, cold lochs, and the many various whiskeys he had sampled on his stay. Ben and Beverly announced that they had bought a house together, and welcomed them all to come visit them for a week during summer.

“How’s living with Richie been?” Mike asked, taking a sip of his wine. “Can’t be easy.”

“Hey!”

Eddie laughed, quickly swallowing his mouthful. “It’s fucking Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, how do you think it is?”

“I resent that.”

“How’s living with Eddie, then, Richie?” Mike tried, smirking.

 _Wonderful_ , Richie thought, _the best possible thing that could happen in my miserable life._

Instead he shrugged and pulled a face. “He’s no Sonia, I’ll say that.”

“You ass, Tozier,” Eddie snapped, smacking him round the back of his head. But there was no malice to the words or actions, and when Richie turned to look at him, he was met by a giant, dazzling smile. Just for him. He suddenly found it hard to swallow.

“Hey, Eddie,” spoke Beverly, and Richie resented her in that moment, only for the fact that Eddies smile had been turned away from him. “I’m sorry about the divorce.”

The smile dropped completely, and then rose again, in a sad smirk. “It’s fine, it wasn’t a good marriage.”

“Still,” Beverly said tenderly, “It must be hard.”

Richie watched him as he shook his head. “It was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

Then, Eddie slowly turned his face to look at Richie, and just stared at him, unblinking.

Richie wanted to say a million things in that moment, he wanted to hold Eddie, to kiss him, to tell him how much he loved him and how he wanted to take him far away from this place; away from Myra, and Derry and his mother and everything that had ever hurt him and wrap him in his arms and keep him there forever.

But saying it meant admitting it, and admitting it made it real, and Richie still couldn’t understand how this could be real. How he could be so broken, and so disgusting, and so _wrong_. He’d waited his whole life for this to pass, and like the lump in his throat, it was still there. Constant and unwavering, and scary.

He stood up suddenly, almost knocking his chair over with the force. “Air!” he exclaimed. “I need air.”

The cold hit him like a wave as he pushed out onto the main street. Clutching the wall of his building for support, he fell against it, and began slowly sliding down onto the damp concrete below him. His head fell against the brick exterior, and sent a twang of pain shooting through him; he hardly noticed it over the banging in his chest.

God, he was an idiot. Now people be worried and would want to help – and he didn’t want that. He had been so lonely before _, so fucking lonely_ , but he had been safe. Safe from prying eyes and hearts. Safe from his own, too. Eddie was easier when he was a distant memory, a blur of intangible emotions that he couldn’t quite grasp. But now he was here, sleeping underneath the same roof as him and looking at him, with those stupid brown eyes that made Richie feel lost and found all at once.

He hated Eddie in that moment, and loved him too. And then hated him for that.

_He had to leave, had to get out of this city, leave it all behind. He had money, he could start again somewhere. Somewhere small, remote, where nobody would recognise him –_

“Richie?”

Bill.

“Hi, Bill.”

He didn’t look up, just kept staring ahead, but he felt an arm fall over him and bring him in closer. It was such a small moment of affection, but it felt so heavy against him. It had been so long since someone had touched him like that, with careful, loving intention. Holding him with no ulterior motives, just wanting him to feel safe. They stayed there, in silence. He couldn’t remember when he started to cry, but the tear stains on Bill’s shoulder suggested a while.

“I’m gay, Bill.”

He heard Bill swallow, and then felt him rest his head upon his. He held him a little tighter.

“It’s okay, Richie … shush, it’s okay.”

The world continued driving on by, people walking from point A to B, cars moving from one traffic jam to another, birds finding perches on which they could view the city. Richie wondered how the world kept spinning sometimes, when he so constantly felt off-kilter.

“I know I’m a writer, so I should have something less cliché and more profound to say in this moment – but you know we all love you right? And this doesn’t change anything.”

Richie laughed against his shoulder, and then pulled himself upright, rolling out the tension in his shoulders. He wiped his eyes dry with the sleeves of his shirt. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Always knew the mom jokes was you compensating for something,” grinned Bill.

Richie gave him a shove, “Fuck off.”

“You ready to go back upstairs?”

Richie sighed, and clapped his hands to his knees, and brought himself to his feet, he offered a hand to Bill. “I can imagine it’s boring as shit up there without me, so I better. Don’t want to be a bad host.”

Bill took the prompted hand and rose to meet Richie’s gaze. “I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t want me to.”

Richie nodded, and swallowed, and patted the other man on the back as they entered the lobby. “Cheers, Bill. For everything.”

The atmosphere in the room was tense when Richie re-entered, they all turned to him with wide, worried eyes. All except Eddie, whose eyes were fixated on the table. He felt that lump in his throat grow bigger, he quickly pushed it down.

“God, who died, guys?” He said, strutting back into the room, hands raised expectantly. “I know dinner parties are famous for being dull, but c’mon … this is just next level.”

Their gazes softened, and Beverly gave him a warm, comforting smile. How lucky he was, to have friends like these.

The night ended shortly afterwards, with long, tight hugs exchanged at the doorway and promises of a later reunion. The door shut on them, leaving Richie and Eddie alone in a home that suddenly felt both too big and too small.

“We should tidy up,” Eddie said curtly, avoiding Richie’s gaze. He didn’t wait for him to reply, before walking away. Richie could hear him start to stack bowls up, and place them in the sink. He made his way towards the kitchen, and began to fill the basin with hot, soapy water. He begun to wipe the plates down clean.

“Let me,” Eddie demanded, holding his hand out to take the sponge from Richie. Richie shook his head and continued to clean. “Richie.”

“I can clean dishes, Eddie,” Richie bit back, scrubbing intensely.

“You’re doing it wrong –“

“It’s fucking soapy water! How could I possibly be doing it wrong?” He snapped back, dropping the plate back into the sink, with a splash. Eddie jumped back, staring Richie down. His eyes, his stupid fucking eyes, now ran cold upon him. His mouth read in a thin, tight line, and Richie could see the tension of his jaw. He could feel the same in his own.

Eddie opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, biting the inside of his cheek, and forcing his eyes away. It looked like he was going to cry. Richie regretted his tone immediately.

“Eds,” Richie breathed. He shook his head.

“Don’t, Richie.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Eddie,” he repeated, he tried to sound forceful, but found his voice wavering. “Don’t go.”

How had he done this? How did the universe keep letting Eddie back into his life, only for Richie to constantly fight him off? Maybe the universe had been trying to make it up to him, for all the horrible things he had been put through. He was tired though, and no doubt so was the universe. He had fucked it all up so quickly, like usual. He could see Eddie leaving, packing up his things, telling him that he never wanted to see him again – leaving his life, for good this time.

But Eddie didn’t. He stayed in-front of Richie, and then took a hesitant step closer, reached out and touching the fabric of Richie’s shirt. He fingered it between his hands, and then moved his arm around Richie’s waist, then another around his back, and pulled him in tight, his face pressed against Richie’s shoulder. Richie felt his heart skip a beat as his own arms found their way around the other man’s body. He could feel Eddie’s hair against his neck, soft and gently tickling him as the strands moved in time to their slow breaths. He could smell the sweet citrus of the shampoo he used. He pressed his cheek against Eddie’s head, and mouthed ‘I love you’ against his skin. He felt hot hair against his shoulder, as Eddie exhaled, and he imagined that it was him saying it back.

Wherever he was it was dark, dark and wet and he was on the ground. He could make out blurred motions and movements around him – where were his glasses? His hand reached up to touch his face, and felt it drenched in a cold wet, sticky liquid. He lifted his hands away from him and could just make out a red smudge against his hands. Blood?

“Richie!”

Eddie?

He tried to sit up, but found himself unable. He pushed his hands against the surface below him, but to no avail, he couldn’t move his body.

“Eddie!” He cried out. “I can’t move! Where are you?”

He heard footsteps to his left, and he tried to turn his head to face the sound, but found it impossible. He desperately tried to make out what it was out of the corner of his eye, but without his glasses it was hopeless.

“Rich,” Eddies voice came, he was near him, “He got me Rich. He got me.”

“It’s going to be okay, Eddie, I promise you,” Richie soothed. “Just stay with me, Eddie.”

“He already got me, Richie,” Eddie retorted, coldly. “You didn’t do anything. You never do anything.”

He heard a thud beside him.

“Eddie?” He yelled. “Eddie? Eddie are you okay? Please be okay, fuck, please be okay –“

“Richie!”

He awoke with a gasp, shooting up in his bed, drenched in sweat. In front of him, an Eddie shaped blur held out their hands and placed them gently against his head, and pulled him in close.

“It’s okay, it was just a nightmare,” Eddie whispered, massaging the small of Richie’s back.

“I’m sweaty, I’m gross, you don’t want to touch me,” Richie stated weakly. Eddie ignored him, and continued to stroke his head and pull the tension from him.

“I get them too,” said Eddie gently. “Not as much anymore, but when I got back, god – every night. Myra almost went mad.”

“Fuck her,” Richie mumbled against Eddies shoulder. Eddie laughed, and nodded in agreement. A beat passed. “Hey Eds?”

“Yeah, Rich?”

“Stay here tonight.”

Eddie was silent. Fuck.

“Shit, I’m so sorry-“

“You are really sweaty …”

Richie’s eyes went wide, and his mouth, still open from talking, fell into a grin and he found himself laughing

“Can I change the sheets, and then can you ask me that again?” Eddie asked, looking surprisingly serious against Richie’s laughter. “And maybe you should shower …”

“If it means waking up next to you, then I’ll do anything,” Richie teased, giving Eddie a wink. Eddie pulled a face and pushed him away.

“Go, be less disgusting whilst I change your bed,” Eddie ordered as Richie backed away towards the bathroom.

“Thanks, mom,” He sang as he shut the bathroom door behind him, not quick enough to cancel out the loud “Fuck you, Richie!”.

He went to turn the shower on as he caught his reflection in the mirror. He had left his glasses by his bed, so the image was hazy. Hazy but his. It didn’t take 20/20 vision to see how tired and lost he looked. He offered his reflection a weak smile, but it didn’t seem to smile back.

Under the water, he allowed himself to clean away the day. The nightmare, the confession, the look on Eddies face at dinner. He let it all swirl down the drain, carried away into the sewers where it all started. The water felt wonderful against his skin, the cold droplets pulling away his clammy shell. He pushed a damp hand through his hair, plastering it back and away from his face. He offered the room a weak laugh. It wasn’t long before he was done, and patted himself down with a towel, before wrapping it around his waist. He made his way out of the bathroom, taking a detour to the kitchen, so that he could shove his damp, sweaty clothes into the washing machine. Eddie was inserting a pillow into a case, when Richie re-entered. Eddie glanced over, saw that Richie was dressed only in a towel, and quickly tore his eyes away, fixating them heavily on the pillow. Richie hurriedly grabbed a clean set of clothes from his drawers, then spun around awkwardly in the space, looking for privacy to change.

“Uh,” he faltered, “Don’t look?”

“Not looking,” Eddie stated, back to him as he fluffed out a pillow. Richie quickly tore his towel off and pulled the oversized band t-shirt and striped blue pyjamas on.

“Decent,” he announced.

“Decent?” Eddie repeated, turning back to him. “Richie Tozier? Impossible.”

“Way to hit me when I’m down, Eds,” Richie sighed, shaking his head. Eddie flung the pillow he had just plumped at straight at his head. It bounced off of him, and he messily caught it.

“Don’t call me Eds!”

Richie laughed, and made his way towards the bed, and placed the pillow underneath his head as he fell against the mattress. He felt the duvet lift up, and the warm body of Eddie slide in beside him. His breath hitched.

“God,” Eddie remarked, “this is a really comfortable bed. Why didn’t you buy a couch half as comfy as this?”

“I said we could swap!”

Eddie just grinned back. “Night, Richie.”

Richie leaned over and turned the bed side lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. He made a conscious decision to turn his body away from Eddie in the bed, as he thought, given half the chance, he would spend the whole night staring at him.

“Night, Eds.”

“Don’t call-“

“I’m trying to sleep, man, try to keep it down.”

“Fuck you.”

The room faded into gentle slumber; the sounds of Eddie’s steady breathing softly covering the shaky breaths of Richie. Though his eyes were shut, he could feel a gaze upon the back of his neck, and he could make out the sounds of the duvet rustling, as the ghost of Eddie’s hands found their way against his back. It was such a soft, and gentle touch that Richie couldn’t be quite sure if he was imagining it. He didn’t dare move, fearful that he would lose the feeling of warmth against his spine if he did. He felt warm breath graze the back of his neck as Eddie let out a sigh, and then, as faintly as his hand appeared, it was gone.

He didn’t risk thinking about what that meant. It felt like for the whole time he and Eddie had known each other, they had been tiptoeing around this question of ‘what if’ that they were both just too scared to ask. So, Richie did what he always did; he pushed it down, and forced his body to find sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter of this fic! It means a lot!   
> Also, yeah, did I treat this chapter like a mini therapy session? Possibly. It was quite cathartic to write about Richie's internalised homophobia, though - being a queer woman who is very much in the same boat. Just mentioning that as I wrote these scenes based off my own emotions and experiences, but everyone deals and feels with this kind of stuff differently!  
> But, again, thank you so much for reading this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! If the hopeless romantic in me comes through too strong, I'm sorry!

He awoke early, the soft sunlight that peered in over the horizon lifted his eyes open. The rhythmic and gentle snores of Eddie informed him that he was still asleep, so he made sure to move his body slowly as he twisted around to face him. He looked so beautiful in the light, the warm glow illuminated the freckles scattered across his cheeks, the soft hue of his lips, which were parted slightly as oxygen flowed through them, the gentle fluttering of his eyelashes casting short shadows across his face. His hands were placed under his face in a prayer. The same hands that had reached out to him last night. Now it was Richie’s turn to reach out. He placed his hand on the pillow next to Eddie, and allowed his thumb to trace a whisper of a circle upon the other man’s knuckles. Eddie’s hands were soft and small, and Richie’s hands looked large and calloused in comparison. He savoured the moment of peace between the two of them, and allowed himself to relish in this small moment of intimacy. Suddenly, Eddie’s eyes fluttered open and Richie found himself frozen. Their eyes met, warm brown meeting anxious green. Richie moved to pull his hand back to safety, but was stopped when he felt Eddie’s fingers wrap around his own. Richie felt all the air leave his body. To be touched like he was being touched, so simple, so sweet, so loving. He hadn’t realized how starved he had been until the moment when Eddie gave his hand a gentle squeeze and a smile.

“You’re staring,” Eddie blinked, his voice weak from sleep.

“You’re staring,” Richie repeated, his voice barely a whisper. His body told him that if he spoke too loudly he would wake himself up.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, “I guess I was.”

Richie swallowed and tried desperately not to look at his hand, which was still intertwined with Eddie’s. “Do you want coffee?”

Eddie snorted. “Not if you’re making it.”

Richie grinned. It felt painfully genuine.

“I’ll get up,” Eddie announced, and Richie had to bite down an argument. Eddie pulled himself up and made his way over to the kitchen. Richie’s hand now felt alien without Eddie’s touched, both too cold and too light. He missed it already. Through the cracks in the partition, he could see Eddie get to work brewing coffee for the two of them. He noted the tender smile on his face, and felt a similar one on his own. He rolled over onto his back, and covered his expression with his hands. He felt 10 years old again, and all from a simple touch.

He sat up as he heard Eddie’s feet padding towards him, and he handed him a warm mug of steaming coffee. He pulled the duvet back, and slipped back in, beside Richie.

“Drinking coffee in bed? Eddie, you’ve gone off the walls,” mused Richie as he took a drag of the drink.

“I’m just trying to enjoy how comfy this bed is before I’m banished to the couch again.” Eddie raised an eyebrow, and cupped the mug between his two hands.

“I said we could swap,” Richie reminded, and then, “Or you could sleep here again tonight.”

Eddie blinked.

“Only if you don’t snore again,” Richie joked quickly. “Human fog machine, honestly.”

“Do you want me to sleep here again?”

He waited a beat. “Yeah, I do.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you want to sleep here again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Eddie was staring intently into his cup, as if he had just asked it a question and was waiting for a reply. He looked beautiful.

Now, Richie thought, say it now.

_I love you._

“I’m gay.”

_Close enough._

Richie could feel his heart beating in his ears, as Eddie looked up at him. He forced himself not to look away. He was always so afraid that if Eddie looked into his eyes he would see how much he loved him.

“My mom will be heartbroken,” said Eddie, with a quirk to his lips.

Richie barked out a surprised laugh, and felt the vice like grip around his throat loosen. For the first time, in a long time, he felt breath come easy. “Don’t worry, Eds, your mother is the only woman I have ever, and will ever, love.”

“Don’t call me Eds!” Eddie cried, laughing as he scolded Richie. He just grinned back in reply. Eddie eased back against the headboard, and ran his tongue over his lips. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome?” Richie offered. Eddie clamped a hand down on Richie’s shoulder, and pulled him into a side hug, being wary of both of their cups.

“We should go out tonight,” said Eddie.

“Out, out?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, “Celebration.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“You,” Eddie claimed. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

It had been many months since Richie had seen New York’s night scene. He had never been one for bars, had favoured drinking alone to being surrounded by drunk 20-something year olds all screaming around him. After coming back from Derry, being alone in the streets at 4am, wasted out of his mind, just seemed far too hazardous. But Eddie had wanted to go out, and he found it very hard to refuse that man. So, he found himself in a bar that could only be described as both hip and rustic, with exposed brick walls, neon lettering, and grungy posters pasted against most surfaces. It was built underneath a bridge, so the ceiling was concaved, and Richie felt oversized in the short room. The bar was set by the entrance, and Richie could see tunnel like rooms diverging past it, all filled with people; leaning against tables, drinks in hands and swaying to the music that was playing. It was some indie rock type stuff, not too abrasive, and created a casual and composed atmosphere. The lighting was soft, and tinged pink – which Richie appreciated, as Eddie had been giving him looks all day that flushed his cheeks. At least now to he would have an easier job hiding it.

“Do you want to find a seat?” Eddie leaned over to Richie, placing his hand against the small of his back. “I’ll get us drinks?”

Richie just nodded, and ambled off in search of a free seat. It was busy tonight, being New York and a Saturday. He navigated the maze of people, all oblivious of his presence, minds taken up by jokes and stories from friends. He managed to find a seat at the back of the joint, a tall table with two barstools, painted to look old. He seated himself, and waited patiently for Eddie to return with drinks. He fiddled with a paper coaster on the table, spinning it between his index fingers.

“Richie Tozier?” A voice said. Richie looked up. In front of him was a tall man, dressed in a black Henley with a grey sports jacket over it. His hair was curly, and hung loose around his face. He wore a big smile, and had a hand extended towards Richie.

“Uh, yeah,” Richie said, taking his hand. “Richie. Do I know you?”

The man shook his hand, and then his head. “No, no, sorry. I’m a big fan of your work.”

Richie smiled politely. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that. What’s your name?”

“Mike,” he said, cocking his head to the side, and leaning in forwards.

“Mike,” Richie repeated. “I have a friend called Mike.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you could have two.”

A cough sounded behind Mike, and his head spun round quickly to see Eddie, holding two beers and wearing a displeased expression. “Can I get past?”

Mike looked between the two men, and gave Richie a confused look.

“Uh, this is my friend Eddie,” Richie said awkwardly. Eddie slid into the seat across from him, and placed the drinks down. Richie gave him a thankful nod.

Mike’s confident smile returned, and he lifted his hand again for Eddie. “Mike.”

Eddie looked down at his hand, then up at his face. He shrugged. “Okay.”

Richie took a long swig of his beer to prevent himself from laughing. Mike faltered for a moment, then dropped his hand. He turned to Richie again.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, and Richie replied with a nod and a wave. Once he was out of earshot, Richie started to laugh heartily.

“What?” Eddie said quizzically.

“You’re so jealous,” He chuckled.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Jealous?”

Richie nodded, shoulders shaking from amusement.

“I’m not jealous! I just don’t want to hang out with _Mike_ ,” he spluttered, saying the man’s name like it tasted bad.

“You were the same with the Wholefood’s cashier,” Richie pointed out. Eddie opened his mouth like a fish, then held up his finger as he took a long gulp of his drink. He knocked back about half of the glass before slamming it down on the table.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry that I’m a national treasure, dude,” Richie teased, enjoying how red Eddie was turning.

“You’re a trashy comedian, not Betty White,” Eddie bit back.

“But I’m a very good trashy comedian,” he said with a shrug. Eddie just shook his head, and rolled his eyes. “Mike thinks I’m good.”

“Shut up about Mike!”

“Hah! Jealous!” Richie exclaimed, jabbing a finger towards Eddie, which he aggressively batted away. Richie smirked.

“So, is Mike the kind of guy you like?” Eddie asked innocently, blinking.

Richie almost choked on his drink. “C’mon, he’s dressed like a douche. He wasn’t even wearing socks!”

“So, what is your type?”

“Overly neurotic.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Richie said quickly. “I don’t know my type.”

Eddie looked around the room, his eyes scanning around, looking for what, Richie didn’t know. Then, Eddie pointed past Richie’s shoulder. He turned to follow to see a man, leaning against a wall and talking to a brunette girl. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and cargo pants. He had messy hair and Harry Potter type glasses. His facial hair was scruffy, but in a good way.

“Him?” Richie wondered. Eddie nodded. “He looks like a knock-off version of me, it would be like fucking a cheap clone.”

Eddie went to raise his hand again, but Richie quickly grabbed it and placed it against the table. He let his hand sit atop of Eddie’s.

“I’m gonna save you the trouble,” he leaned in, “I don’t want to date any of the _random_ guys in here.”

If he hit the word random a bit heavier than necessary, he wouldn’t say. Maybe Eddie would pick up on it and realise. Maybe that didn’t scare him anymore. Maybe he wanted him to know.

“I would ask your type, but I already know what it is?” Richie smirked into his drink.

Eddie looked taken aback. “And what is my taste exactly?”

“Your mom.”

Eddies lips went thin, and he gave Richie a heavy scowl. “Dick move.”

“So, you’re single now,” Richie pointed out. “Because of the whole divorce thing, leaving your wife thing, turning up at my door thing.”

“Really?” Eddie said sarcastically. “I had almost forgotten.”

“Any ladies catching your eye?” Richie asked with a wink.

Eddie didn’t even look around. “Nope.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah they all look a bit too mentally stable and not obese enough for you.”

“Dick,” he enunciated, “move.”

The hours went by quickly, filled with teasing, drinking and at one point, to Eddie’s dismay, dancing. By the time the bell rang for last call, Richie was notably quite out of it. The two stumbled out of the premises, arms wrapped tightly around each other for support. They wobbled their way down the road, continuing to laugh and sing.

“We killed a demon clown, New York!” Richie yelled into the street. “Pennywise did not say Gay Rights!”

Eddie wheezed in laughter, clutching Richie’s chest to stop himself from falling.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Pennywise made that sexy lumberjack statue chase me?” Richie slurred. “If it hadn’t been trying to kill me, then it would have been a pretty neat afternoon.”

“Shush up, Trashmouth,” Eddie babbled.

“I was just a tiny twink then, but now I am powerful and don’t hate myself,” Richie stated, swinging his arms around wildly, until they were wrapped up round Eddie. “Why do you smell so nice?”

“I wash, dickmouth.” Eddie pushed him off, laughing.

“Do you remember where we live?”

“Yeah, it’s, uh –“ Eddie waved his hands off in a direction. “Next to the, uh, fire hydrant that smells like pee.”

“All fire hydrants smell of pee, Eds,” Richie giggled, falling back against him. “Go, Ed’s, follow your nose, take us home.”

“Fly like the pie,” Eddie exclaimed, with a wide grin.

“Fly like the what?” Richie pulled a face.

“When there’s pie, and then the people sniff and fly,” Eddie stated in a matter-of -act way.

“Does that happen in LA?”

Eddie pushed him again. “In cartoons, fuckface.”

“Take us home, pie-boy”.

They fell through the door of the apartment, laughing and shushing each other. Eddie fumbled over to the kitchen, and poured himself a large glass of water, and knocked it back in one. He refilled the glass and brought it over to Richie, who was swaying in the hallway.

“Drink this,” Eddie ordered.

“Oh shit, thanks man, I love you,” he said taking the glass. He took a swig and then froze when he saw that Eddie was staring at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. “-R mom?”

“How do you mean that?” Eddie said quickly, suddenly seeming a lot more sober. Richie, however, felt like he was swimming in jelly.

“What do you mean?” Richie replied, trying to seem nonchalant.

“Do you?” Eddie tried. “You know?”

“Love you?”

Eddie gave a minute nod.

“I, uh-“

And then Richie threw up.

When he awoke the next morning, he could’ve sworn that someone had placed a vice over his head and pulled it tight. His eyes rejected the bright sunlight that was pooling into the room, and he squeezed them shut, and rolled over, pulling the duvet over his head. His mouth felt like it was coated with syrup, and his teeth felt furry, as did his tongue. The taste of vomit and cider lingered in the back of his throat.

“You’re awake,” came a voice from outside the duvet cocoon that Richie had constructed.

Richie could only groan in response.

“Let’s get you in the shower, you’ll feel better.” With those words, the duvet was ripped from atop of Richie. He let out a cry, and rolled himself into a ball, refusing to look up.

“Richie.” Eddie barked firmly.

“Alright, alright,” mumbled Richie, as he rolled out of bed onto his feet. His gait felt weak, and he stumbled past Eddie towards the bathroom. He stopped when he passed the couch. Eddie’s pillow was back against the armrest, and the comforter was askew.

“You slept on the couch?” Richie said, pointing over.

Eddie shrugged. “That’s where I’ve slept since I got here.”

“I thought …” Richie trailed off.

“Go, shower.”

He dropped it, and did as he was told.

The cold tile of the bathroom shocked Richie’s system as he made his way over to the metallic taps, that he flipped on, releasing a waterfall of hot water. He pulled off his pyjamas. He couldn’t remember when he had changed into them. Come to think of it, there wasn’t much he could remember. Steam began to fill the room, fogging up the surfaces, much like his mind. He stepped under the flow, and began to clean the sweat and grime off him. He looked heavenward, and opened his mouth, gargling the shower water in an attempt to get rid of the sickly taste in his mouth. He wondered why Eddie had gone back to the couch, hadn’t they agreed that they would share the bed? Had he done something last night? Fuck. He tried to rack his brain, but his thoughts came back inconclusive. Once he was Eddie standard clean, he knocked the switch back, and stepped out into the steamy room. He rubbed his body down with a towel, before wrapping it around his waist, and scooping up the discarded pyjamas. He made his way out of the room, chucking the old clothes into the wash basket, and heading over to his “room” to get changed. He opted for a pair of beaten jeans, that had been softened over the years, and a patterned button down.

Eddie was sitting on the barstool by the kitchen counter, and Richie made his way over.

“There’s coffee in the pot,” Eddie informed him. Richie nodded, and began to pour himself a cup. He offered a top-up to Eddie, but was shut down with a hand. He didn’t sit down, just leaned against the island across from Eddie.

“How are you feeling?” Richie asked. Eddie wasn’t looking his best. He had dark bags under his eyes, and his skin looked dull and grey. His eyes were missing their distinctive sparkle.

“I’ve been better,” Eddie huffed. “Didn’t get much sleep.”

Richie furrowed his brow. “How come?”

Eddie moved his index finger in a circle next to his head. “Brain wouldn’t shut up.”

“Aw, sorry, man.” He took a sip. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, like he was considering it, then shook his head. “It’s fine. How did you sleep?”

“I don’t think it was sleep, I think I just passed out,” mused Richie. “Either way, I was out. Fuck, I haven’t drank like that since I was a kid – God knows my body could handle it better back then.”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, I think we might have both gone a little too heavy.”

“Did I do anything stupid last night. Wait, don’t answer it – it’s me, of course I did.” Richie dragged a hand across his face.

“Do you not remember?” Eddie suddenly looked very serious; Richie felt his blood run cold.

“Uh-“

“Yeah, you did a strip tease for the rats on 5th, and then got mad when they didn’t tip,” Eddie said gravely.

“Fuck you.”

Eddie grinned deeply over his mug of coffee. Richie found himself smiling, too – even though he felt like absolute shit.

“For real, though, I barely remember anything,” Richie fretted. “I remember a Mike-“

“Of course you remember Mike.”

“-and I remember you being jealous about him. That’s all I got.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“Pretty sure you were, dude.”

“Is that really all you remember?” Eddie asked, his voice hesitant. Richie scrunched up his face, and looked up, visually searching his brain for memories. He clicked his tongue, and shook his head. Eddie nodded solemnly, and bit his lip.

“I have a job interview today,” he announced. “Well, its more of a formality. The job is mine, if I want it.”

Richie’s eyes went wide. “Shit, really? Congrats, man.”

Eddie ran his fingers over the rim of his coffee cup. “I’m not sure I should take it, though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a position down in Santa Monica,” he sighed. “The company is based here, but the office would be back in California.”

“Oh,” was all Richie could say. His body suddenly felt like lead. His stomach knotted itself into a painful maze, and he found himself unable to look up from his feet. He had known this day would come. Why would Eddie stay? He had no reason. Richie was just a stop on his path, and now it was time for him to keep moving.

“Oh?” Eddie repeated.

“That’s really good, Eds,” Richie said, with a shaky smile.

“It is?” pressed Eddie. Richie could feel his eyes burning into him, but he wouldn’t dare look up. He knew that one look at that man would break him, right now.

Richie nodded his head, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, you were going to go back, anyway, no doubt. This’ll be good.”

He heard Eddie sigh. “I wasn’t sure I should go, because I thought, maybe – fuck.”

Richie dared a glance upward; Eddies face was in his hands, and he had a tight fistful of hair in his grip. Richie swallowed heavily.

“Do you want to go?” Richie asked tentatively. Eddie didn’t look up, just huffed his shoulders, and barked out a cold laugh. Richie found himself making his way around the island, so that he was next to the other man. He snaked his arm across his shoulders, and pulled him in tight.

“What are we doing, Rich?” said Eddie, listlessly.

“What?”

Eddie pushed him off, and spun around to face his. He gestured between the two of them. “What is this?”

Richie’s mouth went dry. “I don’t-I don’t know what you mean?”

Eddie groaned, and pulled his hands through his hair. “Do you want me to stay, Richie?”

“I – I don’t know. What do you want?” He deflected. Eddie bit his lip, and shook his head.

“Fuck sake, Richie,” he exclaimed. “Why can’t you just say what you mean?”

“This is your decision!” Richie cried back. He could feel blood in his ears, his stance felt shaky and his throat sick.

“It’s not just mine, though!” He yelled back. Richie had never seen Eddie look this; his eyes were wide, his lips tight, his hair askew and his knuckles white. It wasn’t just anger on the man’s face, it was frustration, and fatigue, and defeat.

“How-“

And then Eddie kissed him. His hands grabbed Richie’s face, and his fingers found perch in the nape of his neck. The kiss was short, and intense, and had taken Richie completely by surprise. Eddie pulled back, hands still intertwined in his hair, he looked at Richie with large, fearful eyes. Richie stood there, mouth agape, and body stiff. He hadn’t time to process what had happened before Eddie was jumping back, hiding his face in his hands.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck – Richie, I’m so sorry.”

Richie could only blink. Eddie had kissed him.

“Richie, god, I am so sorry,” Eddie stammered repentantly. “I promise that will never happen-“

“You kissed me?” Richie breathed. Eddie went quiet, then nodded slowly.

“Yes, but-“

Richie interjected him, by taking a step forward. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I need to preface this next bit by letting you know that I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Eddie looked confused for a split second. “Huh?”

And then Richie’s hands were around Eddie’s face, he savoured the moment, moving slowly closer. His thumb ran over the scar on Eddie’s left cheek as he looked deeply into his eyes. Then, he pressed a gentle kiss against Eddie’s lips. He responded with an airy sigh, and Richie pulled back to look at him, to gauge his reaction. His eyes were half lidded, fixated on his lips, which wore a warm smile. Richie grinned, and went in again, this time harder, more force, more intensity, more love. Eddie’s arms found their way around his back, and he pulled Richie against him. The two laughed into the kisses; messy, and inelegant, but so authentically them. Richie’s cupped Eddies face with his left hand, as his right massaged circles against the small of his back. Eddie’s arms were looped around his neck, pulling his down to his height. Richie could taste the coffee that Eddie had been drinking, and could smell the sweet citrus of his shampoo. The smells were familiar, but new in this experience. Oranges had never smelt so sweet. The two pulled away, but still held each other close. Eddie’s smile was wide, and his eyes were crinkled in the corners, his lips red from where Richie had been kissing him.

“I don’t want you to go to California,” Richie stated, pressing his forehead against Eddie’s.

Eddie laughed. “I don’t want to go to California, either.”

“Stay here,” Richie pleaded, “with me.”

Richie felt Eddie’s head nod against his.

“Yes.”

The second-floor apartment of Richie Tozier and Eddie Kasprak was as homely as could be. Everywhere you looked, the essence of their life shone through. Beaten cookbooks lined the shelves of the kitchen, framed photos of loved ones and friends sat on the windowsill, and sentimental knick-knacks were scattered around. No longer did the open plan layout remind Richie of what he lacked, but now enabled him to show off what was his. Pieces of his and Eddie’s life filled the place, and every corner reminded him of how lucky he was. Eddie had officially moved in a few months back, and had made quick work of revamping the place. He had filled the apartment with life and colour. It was warm, and cosy, and theirs.

This home, now deserving of that title, belonged to Richie and Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so much for reading all of this fic! This is one of 2 things I have ever written and finished (which, compared to the ratio isn't great ... but hey, still an accomplishment!).  
> Also, yes, this is THE cheesiest ending - but I am a sucker for cheesy endings, so I was just full on indulging myself when writing this.  
> Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Thank you for reading the 1st chapter of this! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I really appreciate you checking it out! I'm using so many exclamation points, ahhhhhhh  
> Also, I'm from Scotland, but I tried my best to use American terminology - so if I goof it up, sorry!


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